Every now and then, I come across a neat word or photo prompt. Occasionally with these, they come with a word limit. Enter this week’s piece of flash fiction based on the header image of this post. Enjoy!
All he left behind was a photograph. A candid snapshot Mom had taken before one of his trips. He stepped over the yellow line and onto a subway, gone moments later. That memory, caught in a split second, didn’t show his face. In time, I would only remember vague specifics. Like the scar under his left eye. That frozen moment in time didn’t show the crowd waiting to get on the same car. It didn’t show Mom scared of her husband possibly not coming back this time. It didn’t show my five-year-old face messy with tears. It didn’t show how hard I hugged my well-loved teddy bear to my chest; he had gotten me that bear on his previous trip. It didn’t show the crooked smile he gave us as he boarded.
All he left behind was that photograph. He took the other photos that featured him and burned them in the backyard years later. Every trace of his existence disappeared, save for that sole picture. A reminder of who he had always been, a deserter. Whether it was the weeks-long trips or the quiet house after a shouting match, he was an abandoner.
But I’ve never stopped missing him.
Tyler Gohde 